Promise It Will
by Angel of Fate
Summary: Excerpt: She hadn’t left a note this time. There wasn’t any kind letter explaining where she'd be, why she’d done it, why she had run this time around. Because there was always a reason, whether Jordan wanted to admit it or not, there was always a reason.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I'm still working on a way to convince Tim Kring and associates to auction the rights of _Crossing Jordan_ to the highest bidder, but it might take awhile. In the meantime, they ain't mine.

**Author's Note: **This is just a bit of drabble and with a little luck it will turn into a full fledged fic. I have no immediate plans for it, but thought I might as well go ahead a post it anyway. It was written awhile ago (sometime over the summer) so it's pretty much AU, but I suppose it could still work as a future fic if so inclined. Heh. Anyway, enjoy, I suppose.

**Promise It Will**

**Prologue**

Boston was cold in November. Damn near freezing in fact. Snow fell somberly from the gray, overcast sky, but seemed to disappear as it touched the ground below. Jordan Cavanaugh swore as the wind bit into her unprotected hands. She quickened her pace as she made her way to her car, the heels of her boots clicking against the hard pavement.

Jordan shivered and unlocked the door to her El Camino, throwing her two bags and guitar case into the worn back seat, where they landed with a dull thud. Climbing in herself, Jordan tried to start the engine. The old car put up a fight, but eventually gave in. As she sped down the road, she adjusted her rearview mirror, catching a glimpse at her reflection as she did so. Staring back at her was a pretty woman, with long, dark waves of hair and intense amber eyes that were somehow both warm and distant. Her mouth was drawn in a firm line and her lips pressed together tightly, a sort of saddened expression painted on her face.

She hadn't left a note this time. There wasn't any kind letter explaining where she'd be, why she'd done it, why she had run this time around. Because there was always a reason, whether Jordan wanted to admit it or not, there was always a reason. And this time that reason was Woodrow Hoyt.

She didn't know where she was going. And more over, she didn't really care. As long as it wasn't here. In fact, the farther away from Boston, from him, the better. Maybe someplace warm. Not Los Angeles, because she'd been there and done that a couple of times too many. Somewhere new, a fresh start without any lingering memories of his handsome face.

Jordan absently drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, her neck craning to see when the lazy traffic light would change from red to green. It began to snow more heavily, the flakes thick, and Jordan knew that winter had, just in those few moments, settled in Boston. She was almost sorry that she would miss it. Would it really be so awful to stay?

And then she could hear his voice echoing in her ear. Soft and slow at first, quickly becoming clipped and harsh, but always a whisper. _"I don't love you Jordan. Not anymore. Maybe I never did." _ She forgot about pretty Boston winters and felt her foot push down hard on the pedal.

As she rounded the corner, tires screeching at the sharp turn, part of her brain told her that it was childish to run. The other half contemplated Florida or Texas. She wasn't sure which side was more reasonable, but stopped at the end of the block and pulled a worn map from the glove compartment. She traced her finger down both routes and briefly wondered if New York wasn't the way to go. It wouldn't be a long trip and if the other part of her brain really was right, the drive back could be made easily.

But is that what she wanted? An easy way out? A fallback, in case she remembered how blue his eyes were and how before he uttered words that broke her heart, she could get lost in them? She had always prided herself on not letting anyone even near her heart, lest it did in fact get broken. But she had now realized that it was infinitely worse when they got stuck in your head.

Jordan reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a handful of coins along with a crumpled up receipt and a broken earring. She plucked a quarter out of the pile and dumped the rest of the contents back into her pocket. Jordan rolled the coin between her thumb and forefinger before lightly tossing into the air. It landed in her open palm where she jiggled it back and forth. She opened her fingers and stared intently at the quarter.

"Okay," she sighed. "Heads New York, tails Florida."

With a flick of her wrist, Jordan swiftly pitched the coin into the air and plucked it out just as quickly. She slapped her right hand, with the quarter clenched tightly inside, palm down on top of the left one. Slowly she lifted her slender fingers and saw George Washington smiling, somewhat mockingly, back at her.

"New York it is," Jordan announced to no one. She opened the glove compartment once more and flung both the map and the quarter inside.

Jordan revved the tired, sputtering engine and turned the corner, back onto the main road. She fiddled with the old radio dial, which crackled and spit before she found a decent station. Jordan bobbed her head in time with the light rock tune when her eyes caught, through the thick snow, a sign that cheerily stated that she was leaving Boston and to come back soon.


	2. Chapter One: New York, New York

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, so that whole 'auction of the rights' thing didn't go so well and there was something in the mail today about a restraining order… I kid, I kid. But, yeah, _Crossing Jordan_ isn't mine folks.

**Author's Note: **I was reading over the prologue the other day after I posted and thought, "You know, this really could go somewhere great." So, I'm taking it vaguely AU, which is really not what I had intentionally planned, eons ago when I started it. It's going to be a bit darker and more angst filled than what I set out for, but I'm _really_ digging the end result here. This chapter is pretty short and the following ones probably will be as well. I'm hoping to roll them out fast and possibly finish this off in about ten of them or so.

Thanks for all the feedback on the prologue (as always, feedback on your feedback is after the chapter) and enjoy the first chapter!

**Chapter One: New York, New York**

Though it wasn't far—the squiggly line that Jordan had drawn on the map starting at Boston and ending in New York somewhere after getting off of the Triboro Bridge looked, in fact, quite short—New York wasn't as cold as Boston. Not weather wise anyway. Jordan surmised it was because all the heat in the city that lay beneath the cool concrete sidewalks, where subway cars rumbled loudly. There were no pretty snowflakes to dance in, just a light breeze and darkened clouds that seemed they would rather rain than snow. She guessed that since she was here to stay, at least for awhile, that maybe she would see it snow and it might be just as wonderful as it was at home.

Or maybe she would turn her car around and speed down the highway right into his arms. Because it never took her long to forget the memories and even the not so pleasant ones didn't seem so bad when she touched him, when he touched her. And then there would be that click in her brain, as if it was pressing play on some imaginary tape recorder, before she could feel his breath float across her neck and those words would start once more. _I don't love you. I don't love you. I don't love you. _Sometimes it got stuck on repeat. That's when Jordan realized why she was here in the first place.

She pulled up to the first hotel that she saw and grabbed her bags from the back seat. Jordan figured that it would do before she could settle herself in. She smiled sweetly as she signed the credit card receipt and the young man insisted that he carry her things to her room. He thanked her for her generous tip and she mumbled something in return, still sweetly, and then closed the door.

Jordan didn't bother unpacking, the drive up had worn her out and right now the large queen-sized bed looked terribly inviting. She stripped herself of her clothing, grabbed a complimentary housecoat from the bathroom and went to turn up the heat. The thermostat was situated beside the window and Jordan couldn't resist pulling back the drapes to get a feel for what would be the new city she would call home.

New York, she felt, was the perfect combination of grunge and glamour. It was filled with tall, sleek skyscrapers and dingy, faded brick. She hadn't been to New York since junior high, when she had sat on a hot, sticky school bus with the twenty or so other members of St. Catherine's school choir. They had visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rockefeller Center, Times Square and every other cliché tourist attraction available. She remembered being overwhelmed by the enormous city with the towering buildings and the bustling crowds. And Jordan remembered how easy it was to get lost in the throngs of people. A thought that was more comforting now than it was then.

She grinned, not quite the fake grin she had flashed the desk clerk and not quite the saddened grin that had graced her face more often that she cared to think about, but somewhere in between the two. Jordan closed the drapes, flicked the switch on the thermostat and crawled under the blankets not bothering to put on pajamas or take off the housecoat. It wasn't Boston, but it would do. And he wasn't here, but that was want she wanted. And Jordan would try and convince herself of that tomorrow, but for now she fell into what she hoped would be a dreamless sleep.

_It was dark, but not so dark that the shadows on the wall couldn't be seen stretching and writhing about. His lip curled, slightly, as he took a sharp breath. She had to squint to see his face, his chin tilted away from her, defiantly. Her fingers slid up under his neck, curling around his shoulder as she turned his body towards hers. He hadn't always been this broken shell of a man, of a person. Had he?_

"_Look at me," she coaxed softly. Her voice had turned quieter over the past few weeks, never rising above a whisper. _

_He did. Look at her. And he could see himself, his hard face, staring back at him in the pools of unshed tears in her eyes. He turned away again and the tears fell from her eyes, down her cheeks and onto the sheets._

_Woody stood, his hands pressing down on the mattress, the motion making the old bed shake with age. The springs creaked when his body left but her own frame did nothing to jostle them. He silently, most things he did now were silent, opened the drawer to the small wooden nightstand and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. His fingers reflectively pushed up on the bottom of the carton and drew out a cigarette. Flinging the pack back into the drawer, Woody grabbed a lighter out of the pocket of his jeans and placed the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. His thumb flicked over the lighter and as he lit the cigarette, the orange flame washed over his face, revealing that, no he wasn't always that broken shell of a man, but she still wasn't sure who he was._

_Jordan watched his slow, languished movements, fascinated that he had changed and she hadn't even noticed until now. Sure, she realized that he was different, but not once had she expected him to be there and entirely gone at the same time._

"_I didn't know that you smoked," she remarked in the same low voice. It was a stupid thing to say, but really what else was she supposed to say?_

"_Yeah," he shrugged and sat back down, the springs once again squealing in approval. "Took it up in high school, don't know when I quit. I guess when my old man died."_

"_Oh," she nodded, her hand rising to her throat, trying to smooth out the lump that had suddenly appeared._

"_It'll kill you, you know," he laughed ruefully and smiled before his face turned somber. "Slowly, but surely, it'll kill you."_

_He took a long drag and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. With the cigarette resting between his two fingers he lifted his hand towards her, offering her a pull. She shook her head. Jordan had kicked that habit long ago and now was probably the least appropriate time to pick it up._

"_You called me," she told him, as if he might have forgotten that hers had been the number he dialed at three in the morning, crying and pleading for her to come over. _

_As she raced to his apartment Jordan wondered briefly if he had been drinking, but there wasn't a trace of alcohol on his lips. She would have tasted it when he crashed his mouth down onto hers the moment she walked through the door. Only moments later they sat in the dark on the bed, not a word spoken since the phone call. _

"_I did," he agreed, taking another exaggerated drag. Woody stubbed out the cigarette on the nightstand, grey ash and tiny sparks flying across the wood._

"_Why?" she asked, a small quiver escaping from her lips. _

"_Because I knew that you'd come," he said, a hint of old Woody easing into his tone. _

"_What if I didn't?"_

_Woody let his hand cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her lips, his fingers tangled in her hair. He smiled again. Her eyes begged him to answer the question and his hand fell from her face as he stood, reaching for the Marlboros. The drawer was still open and after he took out a cigarette, pushing the pack back from where he grabbed it, Jordan could see the faint outline of his gun resting under the carton._

"_Slowly, but surely," he repeated. Catching Jordan's gaze, he added, "But I guess if they don't something else will. Doesn't matter though, 'cause we're all going to die someday."_

_He slammed the drawer shut with a deafening bang._

Jordan awoke with the same deafening bang ringing in her ears, with it slowly fading into a muted sort of thud. Her breath was coming out in short, hurried gasps and she pressed both of her hands to her chest. She could feel her skin slick with sweat as her fingers slipped under the housecoat, against her rapidly beating heart. It took a moment for her to recall where she was and she was thankful that she had left on the lamp next to her bed. When her breathing returned to normal, she made her way to the bathroom and wet a washcloth. She placed it around the back of her neck and sighed as she leaned on the sink. It, of course, had been a dream, but any dream about him always had a more real quality than reality everdid.

Jordan walked back into the room and seated herself on the thick carpet next to her bags. She reached for the smaller, black one and pulled it onto her lap. Unzipping the front compartment, she dug around until her fingers grazed the delicate chain. Jordan removed it from the bag and let it lie in her palm for a moment, watching it glisten in the artificial light. She undid the clasp and slipped it around her neck, removing the damp cloth as she did so. The locket fell against her chest with a slight thump and only then did her heart begin to slow.

She didn't have to open it to know what was inside. All she had to do was run her fingers over the gold heart shape and she could see the faded picture, one of herself as a child, smiling at her happily. It was her mother who had put a picture of her only daughter in the locket and it was Jordan who had put in the one next to it. Staring back at the freckled faced picture of Jordan was one of him. Woody Hoyt at three years old, his chubby, dimpled cheeks stretched into a grin. His mother and father were still alive then and all he really needed to be happy was a cookie.

Jordan crawled back into the bed, her fingers still clutching the locket. This time she when she fell back asleep, she didn't dream.

* * *

Feedback for feedback! 

**FrenchKissingWoody: **See, we both had the same thought! Hee.

**Orlando-crazy- **Thanks!

**Bonnie Smith- **I always wanted to do a 'Jordan runs' story, but never knew really what to do with it. So hopefully this'll turn out okay (and also angsty).

**Kate- **Thanks to you as well!

**Veggie5- **And again, many thanks!


	3. Chapter Two: Playing Pretend

**Disclaimer: **So, yeah. With that court order and all, I apparently have to refrain from making witty attempts at disclaimers and jokes about owning the rights to _Crossing Jordan_. With that said, I don't in fact foresee me getting said rights anytime in the near future. I disclaim.

**Author's Note: **So much for me rolling out those chapters all lickety-split, but as noted before, it is _short_. I guess I know how to hold up at least part of the bargain. Seriously though, it is a fairly short chapter and hopefully I will actually get another one of these up and out _very _soon. As usual, comment and constructive criticism are always welcome and feedback for your feedback will be provided at the end of this chapter.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Two: Playing Pretend**

Jordan loved to play pretend. She would raid her mother's closet and drape herself in long, beaded necklaces, with large, floppy hats and gaudy rings. But this was a different kind of pretend. Now, she was pretending to be somebody that she wasn't. Now, she was somebody who had taken a job at some hole-in-the-wall café, who wore an apron, her hair in a bun and a nametag that read, 'Jori'. Now, she was pretending to be happy. And, truthfully, Jordan wasn't sure that she loved play pretend anymore.

She had been in New York for just over three weeks and the searching and probing phone calls from home were now down to a minimum. Her dad had been panicked and worried and sworn that Jordan had given him a heart attack. Garrett told her that if she didn't get her ass back to Boston immediately, he'd surely haul it back himself, because Garrett had control issues and claimed that her father wasn't the only one who was having a preemptive heart attack. Lily whispered in a tearful voice that she understood, but at the same time she really didn't, and as long as Jordan was safe she supposed it was okay.

Jordan had told them all the same thing, "I'm fine. I know what I'm doing. I need time. Please."

Woody hadn't called, but Jordan really hadn't expected him to. Some part of her had hoped, maybe, but expected? Not a chance.

It was almost strange that sometimes she still had those fleeting moments of hope. Moments where that silly imaginative tape recorder didn't remind her repeatedly that he didn't love her. There was no play button that would click in to bring her down to reality. Instead, she'd see faded images flash before her eyes, blurry and water colored, like an old projector might showcase against a billowing white sheet. And there, of course, would only be the blissfully happy times. The whole damn world colored with playful pastels.

_A tire swing hanging from a tree in the backyard seemed horribly cliché, and yet the moment she saw the old elm, she just knew she had to have one. He agreed, with an excited, boyish grin and hung one later that week. And almost every night that summer, the two would sit beneath the tree, sometimes on the tire, sometimes not, and talk about how wonderful life would be now that they were together. How with the past behind them, all the bad times forgotten, everything would be perfect. And, for that summer anyway, it seemed like it really would be. _

"_Do you want a boy or a girl?" Jordan asked. She lay half cradled in his lap, half against the tree, the rough bark scraping through her light cotton top. _

"_I don't know," he answered, his hand resting comfortingly atop her stomach. His other hand absently pushed the tire swing back and forth, the thick rubber smacking his palm with every motion. _

"_We should probably start planning a wedding too," she said, her forehead wrinkling slightly at the thought. _

"_Probably."_

_He smiled down at her, the soft thump of the swing slowly becoming less frequent. He didn't question that she had said, 'probably' and not 'definitely'. And she didn't question that he hadn't called her on it. She grinned at him in return and clasped her arms around his waist, drawing him closer to her. _

"_No rush anyway," she announced in a decided voice with an accompanying nod. _

"_No."_

"_And besides," Jordan continued. "It's not like you asked me to marry you."_

"_Guess I haven't," he said, his smile growing larger. "Do you want me to?"_

"_No," she responded, but her shoulders shrugged. _

"_Because if you wanted me to, I would you know," he told her. _

"_And what if I said that this was enough? That having you and all this was just enough?" she asked._

"_Well, then if you still wanted me to, I still would."_

"_Hmm," she considered aloud. _

"_It wouldn't all change Jordan," he said. "You'd still have me, that wouldn't change. I promise."_

"_You'd just be bound to me by law," Jordan informed him with a raised brow. _

"_Yeah," he chuckled. "Something like that."_

"_Well, that does sound sort of appealing," she admitted. _

"_So?"_

"_So, a promise is a promise," she whispered._

_The breeze blew lightly then, making the swing fall from Woody's grasp. He reached for it, dramatically exaggerating his movements. Jordan laughed and leapt to her feet pulling the swing further from him, before slipping her legs into the tire. She grabbed hold of the rope with both hands and swung her weight, spinning herself in circles. Not getting off the ground, his knees sinking into the soft mud, he hooked his arm onto the tire. _

_Woody reeled in the swing, Jordan still perched on top, towards him. When he got her close enough, he tipped the tire down and kissed her quickly, before sending it soaring once more. As it swung back in his direction, he placed his large hands down on the rubber, the tire stopping with a jolt. She hopped off and made her way to the house, Woody following closely behind. _

"_I promise," he said, snaking an arm over her middle. _

"_Good."_

And then a bright burst of red would end it all. It wasn't always clear if the color was literal or figurative. Maybe it was just symbolic. As if that billowing white sheet had suddenly caught fire and burned into nothing. Leaving the old projector to cast its images only into the night, where they couldn't be seen.

Sometimes, although not usually, that play button in her mind would be pressed when all was said and done and she could once more hear his words echo in her ears, _"I don't love you Jordan. Not anymore. Maybe I never did." _

And with that, the fleeting hope would become nonexistent. Then she would go back to fooling herself. She would go back to pretending. Pretending that she actually didn't like that little bit of fleeting hope that she clung to every once and awhile. Pretending that by running away, she could just forget him. Still pretending to happy.

Running a finger along the locket that she hadn't removed since the night she came to New York, Jordan thought that maybe if she could just pretend long enough, it would be real. Even if the thought of Woody, whether in dark, veiled dreams or misty muted memories, proved to be the only reality she ever wanted or needed. But if she just could make believe than maybe she could make it work. Maybe.

* * *

**NCCJFAN: **Thanks a million. Have I ever said what an awesome honor it is to have somebody whose stories that I enjoy immensely review my fic(s)? If I haven't, it totally is!

**Kate: **Thanks! I, of course, fanwanked the whole choir bit. But going to a Catholic school, I'm sure it's not that much of a stretch. (I speak from past experience.)

**veggie5: **'Eerily dark' was exactly what I was going for :) Thanks for the awesome review!

**Orlando-crazy, simba-girl, cavanaugh-girl: **Thanks so much for the kind reviews :)

**black.n.blu: **Haven't abandoned it yet…yet. I kid. Thanks, glad you liked it!


	4. Chapter Three: Being Scared

**Disclaimer: **Must refrain from witty remarks. Eh, I'm not that witty, so it's not that hard. I disclaim.

**Author's Note: **So, I'm really keeping up with this short chapter thing. Again, no so much with getting them out so fast, but I'm working on it. I promise.

Just a little note, that actually deals directly with the story. **WIWJ **had made a comment in his/her review that made me feel that I should kind of clarify something. The flashbacks/dream sequences aren't in any chronological order, just in the order that Jordan is remembering them. So, yes, they're confusing, because the reader doesn't know what came first, but it's intended. It's supposed to be muddled. I have a vague timeline in my head of when everything happened and there are little details that give you, the reader, an even vaguer idea of when it all went down, but again it's all intended.

So, speaking of flashbacks, this chapter starts out with one. You may now continue to skip over the longwinded **AN **and read on. Enjoy!

**Chapter Three: Being Scared**

_The room was silent, save the soft hum of the radio, tuned to a station that didn't exist, broadcasting only static. On the table sat a single shot glass filled with a finger of Jack Daniels. The glass remained untouched, small beads of condensation rolling down the sides and onto a thick stack of newspaper. He sat stiffly in the chair, his eyes focused intently on the glass and the nearly full bottle beside it. _

_She was watching him and he knew. Knew that she was standing in the doorway, one slender hand on the frame, and the other set on her hip. Knew that her full mouth was pulled into a sad frown. But he would never really be sure if it was for him or for her. What frightened him more was the fact that it didn't even seem to matter anymore. Nothing did. _

"_You going to drink that?" she asked quietly, stepping into the room._

"_Thinking about it," he nodded. _

_Woody wasn't much of a drinker, but neither himself nor Jordan could tell anyone just who he was anymore, so the alcohol was poured and ready, but sat still. _

_Jordan's frown turned into a weak smile as she sat herself on the arm of the chair. Slipping a comforting arm around his shoulders, she wondered if she should have been more surprised when he pulled away from her touch. Her hand fell slightly and she brought it to rest on his knee. This time he didn't shift his body away from her, but he didn't acknowledge the gesture. _

"_That's everything you know," he remarked in an even tone. "Everyone, everything. That's it. Gone." _

"_Everyone?" Jordan questioned with a small amount of hurt in her voice. He didn't acknowledge that either. _

"_God, life is such a joke," Woody said, shaking his head. He absently rubbed his chin and leaned further back into the chair, then chuckled softly. "It just beats you down and laughs."_

"_Not if you let it," she replied. _

"_Oh, so I let this happen? It's because I let it?" the chuckle deepened. "I wish I knew beforehand that my own will controlled life's many downfalls. Would have saved me a lot of grief."_

"_I'm sure it would," Jordan sighed. She stood up abruptly and angrily shook her head. _

"_Please don't go."_

_His hand reached for hers. He barely grabbed onto her fingers as she began to walk away, but the small action made Jordan's heart ache too much to just leave him alone. She gave another heavy sigh and reluctantly sat on the table in front of him. _

"_I won't go, if you tell me why you want me to stay," Jordan said slowly. _

"_Need," Woody corrected softly. "Need you to stay."_

"_Alright."_

"_I need you to stay, because I honestly don't know what I would do if you didn't. I don't know what would happen to me or what could happen me. And I've been scared of more things than I can even count Jordan, but that thought just terrifies me," he said, still softly. _

_He hung his head low and swept a tired hand over his eyes. It was then that Jordan realized that she had never seen him cry. Not now, when he should have been, not ever. She went place the same hand on his knee again and as she did, he held her arm tightly, gently pulling her into his lap. It wasn't something she expected, but it was something that she had wanted to expect. Because she was sure that sometime it was supposed to be like this. _

"_I'm sorry," she whispered. _

"_Me too," he told her in the same voice. _

"_Not for what I said, but for—" Jordan began, and then stopped. _

_Woody looked at her and nodded, letting her know that he understood exactly why she was apologizing. He pulled her closer to him, her dark hair disappearing against his equally dark suit jacket as her head fell to his chest. _

"_It wasn't supposed to happen like this."_

"_Nothing happens like it's supposed to," she answered. _

_He nodded again, but Jordan didn't think that he was agreeing with her, he just seemed too worn out to argue. _

_She felt the small, choked sob before she heard it. It lasted only a moment and Jordan wasn't even sure if actual tears fell, but for once something like that didn't matter. She pushed her body against him, burying herself into him and finally felt like things might start to be right, even when everything was still wrong._

"_How about that drink," Jordan suggested, reaching for the untouched shot glass._

"_For me, not you," Woody said, with his lips settling somewhere in between a smile and a frown as he glanced down at her slightly protruding stomach._

"_No, for him," she stated._

"_For him."_

_Woody leaned over and grabbed the glass, a light ring of water left behind in its absence. It made a perfect, wet circle over the black and white picture of a young man's obituary. And just below, in bold script was the name, "Calvin Coolidge Hoyt". _

_Woody threw back the shot and untidily wiped his mouth. _

"_For Cal," he said and slammed the glass back down onto the table. _

Jordan hadn't thought about that night in years. After it had happened, it was all she could think about. But soon, the memory faded and Jordan had forgotten that nights like that ever existed. It was the low buzz of her own radio that had made her remember. Just the crackling of static, and the cold breeze from the open window took her back.

She shook her head, turned of the radio and closed the window. Thinking that maybe in doing so, it would somehow erase the memory. But as Jordan dropped the pane, it didn't go away. It had rained that night, she remembered. Small, misty drops fell during the day too, landing on the polished wood of the casket. There was a sea of black umbrellas, masking everybody's face. Woody didn't need an umbrella, he was stoic enough without one.

Jordan always thought that night was the night that more than ever he had began to change. It had started before then, of course, but that night something broke inside of him. And no matter how hard she had tried to fix it, she couldn't. No one could. In the end she didn't even want to.

She knew from her now weekly phone call from Lily that he had asked about her once. But, only once and never since. Jordan was curious why he had picked now to wonder what had happened to her, but decided it was all the same. Her game of pretend was paying off, the more she pretended the more this new life became real. And soon, everything else would just become another one of her faded memories. She would think about it every now and then, but it wouldn't be more than that.

And just like that night, when Woody had said that it was Jordan leaving him that was most terrifying, even though more things scared him than he could count; Jordan was absolutely terrified of forgetting.

* * *

**WIWJ: **Well, your comment sort of got acknowledged in the author's note, but I'll add that the dreams are my favorite part to write. 

**black.n.blu: **See, it still hasn't been abandoned yet! Yay! Oh, and awesome for reading a story with a pairing you don't usually read. I'll admit that I've sometimes skipped over a story because I'm not sold on the pairing, so yeah, awesome.

**Orlando-crazy: **Promise I'm working on the soon thing. Hee.

**cavanaugh-girl: **Thanks! And again, I love writing the dreams/flashbacks.

**red lighting: **Sorry, I don't usually take requests, (I have enough trouble trying to finish my own fics) but I'm sure you can find somebody else to write the story. Or your friend could even write it herself.

**howartsalumni: **Thanks!

**maehsweet: **There's a little more to that twist than just Jordan loving him. I think this chapter hints a bit at that. And once more, I'm glad so many of you guys like the dreams and flashbacks, because they're really the basis for the story.

**being-olivia: **Thanks and I'm working on finishing it. I said I wanted to do it in ten or so chapters, but maybe I'll wrap it up before then. We'll see.


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